I love Paris anytime, but it’s best in the spring. Let’s not kid ourselves.
Maybe it’s because everything, everything in the city is in bloom.
Maybe it’s because the parks begin to refill with not just plants but also people.
Maybe it’s the profusion of pretty pastel shades you see truly no other time of year.
Maybe it’s the sweet bursts of sunshine that are by no means guaranteed, making them all that much sweeter.
Maybe it’s the way that tourist season hasn’t started in earnest and you feel like the city is just yours to hoard, to secret away.
Maybe it’s none of these things.
Maybe it’s all of them.
Whatever the case, Paris, je t’aime.